


The Heart I Know

by notsodarling



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Loves Michael Guerin, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, M/M, Michael Guerin Loves Alex Manes, Minor Kitchen Accident, Off Screen Violence, Pining, Smut, Two Idiots Who Love Each Other A Lot, reference to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsodarling/pseuds/notsodarling
Summary: Alex misses Michael terribly while he's off on a road trip with his siblings.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 24
Kudos: 105





	The Heart I Know

**Author's Note:**

> This has been an idea that's knocked around in my head for some time - it's [loosely based on an Arthur/Eames Inception fic from a decade ago](https://archiveofourown.org/works/135917) that I adore and re-read constantly, and I just loved the concept and wanted to see if I could write it for Malex now.
> 
> Thank you to Riley for all the hand-holding, and for reading the entire thing over for me first.
> 
> title from "tis the damn season" by Taylor Swift
> 
> <3

Despite living in a house with three brothers growing up, Alex had always felt alone. His time in the Air Force had never dissuaded him of that feeling, even as he was constantly surrounded by others. Part of him knew it was the secrets he'd kept, the parts he'd been unable to speak freely about, show the world his whole truth. Buying the house in Roswell after his accident, he'd dedicated time to trying to make it into a home.

But even as he filled it with music and books, and decorated the rooms exactly how he wanted for the first time in his life, he couldn't deny that it felt as though something was missing. An emptiness still lingered through the walls, and though Alex loved this place that was all his own, it wasn't quite _home_ yet.

It wasn't until after - after he'd dated Forrest, after he and Michael had spent months carefully navigating a tentative friendship, after they'd slowly and carefully fallen back together, after Michael had begun to spend more nights sleeping next to Alex than not - that Alex started to truly enjoy the space he'd once carved out for himself.

In his study, against the wall opposite his own desk set up for days when he works from home, is a drafting table covered in sketch paper and notebooks filled with calculations. The sight never fails to make Alex smile, to fill him with a sense of pride for the way Michael's mind works, how he is able to conceptualize and design things, and turn them into a reality. The bookshelves in the room now hold more than just Alex's coding textbooks, and the random literary novels he's acquired when he's had free moments to read, but mathematics and physics, books on environmental science and agriculture that Alex would never have dreamed of owning or reading.

There's a black Stetson that regularly hangs from the hook in the hallway near the front door, a pair of well worn cowboy boots are usually nestled on the floor next to his own work boots. And though he'll never admit it out loud, opening the door to the hallway closet basks him in the familiar and comforting smell of rain that accompanies everything Michael owns.

Before, the most he'd ever left sitting out on the kitchen table had been his laptop, now there are notebooks full of Michael's handwriting that regularly disappear and reappear usually occupying the space at the far end.

In the living room, the blanket he'd kept meticulously folded on the back of the couch rarely ends up that way these days, instead thrown haphazardly after an impromptu nap. Though it's usually Michael who dozes on the couch because he'd been watching and listening to Alex play on the keyboard or trying to work out a new chord progression for a song. He wonders if it should bother him, the way Michael drifts off during those times, but it never does.

The kitchen remains immaculate, save for one new notebook shoved in between the cutting boards that sit neatly against the back splash - Michael's recipe book. Each time he finds some new dish to try, he scribbles the ingredients and the instructions down for reference, though Alex has never seen the notebook open while Michael is cooking. As if he's already committed the entire thing to memory.

But one of the best reminders in the entire house that shows Alex how much this isn't _just_ where he lives and rested his head at night, but is a home he shares with the person he loves, is the modifications to the bathroom. When he'd bought the house, Alex had immediately installed a grab bar and purchased a cheap little bench he could sit on - enough to make do in the shower, but never anything more than functional of their intended purpose. It had been the renovations that Michael had undertaken, designing a more comfortable bench, and a much more accessible grab bar system, that allowed Alex to truly begin to enjoy taking showers, no longer feeling like they were just a necessary, but also something to relax him after a long tiring day on base.

He sits at the dining room table now, setting up the new computer he's purchased for Michael. Of course he'd been unable to stick to a budget, too concerned with making sure Michael had the best for the work he was going to be doing on it. Alex had asked, of course, after realizing that Michael was often just using the browser on his cell phone to search for things, and sticking to pen and paper for everything else. Michael had hemmed and hawed, claimed he didn't need one, and Alex had gotten him one morning, after they'd woken each other up with lazy blow jobs, to admit how much easier his own computer could make things.

Alex misses him terribly.

"I feel pathetic," he'd admitted to Maria three days into Michael's trip with Max, Isobel, and Liz.

"You wanna come over?" She'd asked, taking pity on him. "We can just cozy on the sofa and watch cheesy romcoms and gorge on junk food."

He appreciated the offer, and almost took her up on it. The problem was, the trip Michael had taken didn't have a defined timeline. It all hinged on what they found in following some clues that led North regarding the UFO crash and it's survivors. Alex had tried to go with him, hadn't wanted to be so far away in case something went wrong, but when his PTO request was denied due to insufficient notice, he'd relented after Michael had convinced him he'd check in every day.

But now it’s been three days since the time they’d spoken, and Alex is starting to worry. He’d resisted during the first twelve hours, convincing himself Michael just hadn’t found a moment alone. The remaining twenty-four had been agony, especially when there’s been no answer on anyone’s cell phone - Michael, Isobel, Liz, and Max’s all had gone to voicemail in the end.

"He'll call," Maria had said when he'd told her. "Perhaps there's no signal where they are."

He'd been surprised, given her own ancestral ties to the crash, that she'd elected to stay in Roswell. But Maria had gently reminded him that she was more concerned about Mimi than road trips with no definitive answers, and she had a business to run - sometimes personal trips just had to be sacrificed.

So he occupies himself with setting up the new programs on Michael's computer, making sure it all runs smoothly for when he returns, and buries himself in work projects to pass the time, and tries to not think something went wrong and that's why Michael hasn't gotten in touch.

"We're on our way back," Michael greets him in the first conversation they've had in thirty six hours. "We ran into some problems, so I can't talk long, but we're maybe four-"

"Six!" Alex hears Liz shout in the background.

"-hours away, and there's nothing stopping me from coming right to you."

Alex looks at the clock, and how it's after midnight now, which means it'll be well into the morning hours before Michael is walking through the front door.

"I know you'll probably be tired-"

Michael scoffs, laughing and it's the most wonderful sound Alex has heard in days.

"Tell those bastards you're going to be late."

Alex smiles. "I might not leave at all then."

It's tempting to think about, calling out to spend the entire day with Michael instead. But he has three meetings scheduled, none of which he can get out of short of being on a ventilator. But it will mean that when he gets home in the afternoon, Michael will be there.

He reluctantly falls asleep after that, curled up on Michael's side of the bed, face buried in the pillow that no matter how many times it gets washed, always smells exactly like Michael. It doesn't make Alex miss him any less, but it's been his only comfort these last couple days.

When his alarm goes off several hours later, Alex stubbornly doesn't think about how he woke up alone again. He takes his morning shower on autopilot, wanting to go through the motions enough so that he can just come home to Michael. Breakfast is coffee and cereal, same as it's been every day Michael has been gone, because while Alex is able to cook for himself when he has to - recipes are _not that hard_ to follow - he prefers Michael's cooking. A voice in his head tells him it's just because it means he doesn't have to, but that's not it. He loves watching Michael experiment with things, adding spices or flavors that he never would have dreamed of, and everything still tasting delicious. He'd tried not to be too surprised the first time he’d watched Michael cook for him, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Did you learn from one of the people you lived with?*

Michael had shaken his head, concentrating on the vegetables he'd been chopping up.

"Sanders was the first one who took an interest. After I started working for him, sometimes I'd crash on his couch, and he'd cook me breakfast in the morning. First time someone didn't make me feel like I was an imposition."

Alex's heart always broke hearing about what it had been like for Michael growing up. To not have any memories of happier times, but believing they existed and surviving on that hope. He's often wondered since if there was a way to retrieve the memories that Max, Isobel, and Michael couldn't remember. Particularly after learning about Nora and Louise, and how hard they'd tried to protect their children. His own childhood hadn't always been bad, there had been some good moments, memories from before his mom left when it had felt like they had been something akin to a happy family. It was only after she left when things had changed.

It’s that fear now, of possibly turning into a monster like his father, that keeps Alex from entertaining the possibility of a _family_ . Neither he or Michael have brought it up, and Alex wonders if it’s because they’re both too scared of repeating the unpleasantness of their childhoods. Part of him knows, _believes_ , that he would never turn into the monster that his father was, but fear isn’t always rational, and it doesn’t always make sense, Alex knows that. Maybe one day he’ll believe it too.

Because deep down, he wants it. He wants to marry Michael some day. He's had part of a proposal written since he was seventeen, when he was younger and more naive. There's never been anyone else who made him fall so fast and hard, but Alex doesn't care.

He continues on autopilot as he goes about his day, making the commute to the base, attending his meetings, going over a project that's currently in development for the land the Air Force had purchased from the Foster's several years prior - delayed because of funding and approval issues. He skips lunch, trying to make it through the day faster, and spends most of his last meeting staring at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen.

The drive home is excruciating - it feels longer than it ever has before. There's no new text messages, no missed calls, no voicemails, and Alex tries not to think about how it's probably only because Michael was exhausted. Hopefully he fell asleep the moment he hit the bed, and that's where he's going to find Michael when he gets home.

It's just been two extremely long weeks.

He toes his boots off inside the front door, and drapes his jacket on the hook. There's a black duffel laying near one of the chairs at the dining table, and Alex lets out a sigh of relief. He wastes no time pushing open the bedroom door, greeted by darkness because Michael has all the curtains pulled tight to keep out the sun. He closes the door behind him and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it in the middle of the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom, flipping on a light. Inside, he partially closes the door and removes his pants, sitting down on the window seat to remove his prosthetic. There's a crutch leaning against the wall, one of the places Michael is always diligent in making sure to place one of his spares. The stress of the past several days has traveled all through his body, and Alex feels it acutely in his hip, and around his stump, which feels extra sensitive to pressure as he removes the liner. He debates the merits of drawing a bath, letting himself relax and let the tension melt away - but it would mean delaying being near, and getting to touch, Michael again for the first time in two weeks, and he decides against it.

Crutch nestled under his elbow, Alex makes his way back into the bedroom, naked except for his boxers, and crawls into bed, letting his crutch fall to the floor. He lets his hands sweep up Michael's legs, past his hips and stomach - a thrill traveling through his body that Michael had fallen asleep naked and ready for him - body following as Alex leans down to place feather light kisses to Michael's skin. He continues upward, pressing his face into Michael's neck, breathing in that familiar and comforting rain smell, his whole body relaxing in response. Alex presses a kiss to somewhere along Michael's jawline, before feeling Michael's arms move, wrapping around him, and pulling their bodies tightly together, indicating he’s awake too.

Without a word, just Michael pushing up to try and find his lips, kisses landing on his cheek, and neck, before finding his lips, Alex feels as he lets go of his hold, and Michael's hand brushes against him. He shifts a bit, so Michael doesn't have to try and squeeze his hand between their bodies, and reaches down, taking Michael in his hand. It's rough, just skin on skin, and Alex knows that friction can't feel good. He pauses, leaning back, and retrieving the bottle of lube from the nightstand where he'd left it during Michael's absence. Carefully he coats his hand, recapping the lid, and reaching back down, fingers wrapped around Michael again as he runs his thumb over the head, which makes Michael moan _so so beautifully,_ and Alex wonders if he'd even touched himself at all during the trip, if he'd been alone long enough to. He jerks Michael off, keeping his face pressed against the side of Michael's neck until Michael is shifting, turning his head and pressing his open mouth against Alex's. He quickens the pace, sensing Michael is close, and pushes his other hand into Michael's curls, pulling at them slightly, but causing the desired effect as Michael thrusts up to meet his hand, and Alex slows his pace, letting him ride it out, pressing kisses to Michael's cheek as he settles back against the pillows.

"Welcome home," Alex whispers, nuzzling against Michael’s cheek, reveling in the contact.

“I told you I’d make it back.” 

Alex lets Michael press their lips together, before watching as he slides out from underneath him, pushing up off the bed and heading into the bathroom. Alex only moves as far enough to sit up, his eyes never leaving Michael, watching as he moves around, grabbing a washcloth from the closet, and running it under the hot water. 

Finally, thanks to the light of the bathroom, Alex gets a good look at Michael, and immediately sits up in bed, blinking hard at the sight. Michael’s body is covered in bruises -most of them are on his abdomen and back, and Alex is pretty sure there’s a cut on his cheek below his left eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Alex yells out, suddenly pissed off that Michael hadn’t said anything, Alex had put his hands on those bruises, they had to have hurt.

Michael pauses, looking down at himself like just realizing the bruises are there, before glancing back at Alex, shrugging his shoulders, and Alex tries to maintain his composure. It’s not going to do him any good to get angry at Michael.

“Turns out the people we were looking for were actually looking for Jones. They saw Max, and wouldn’t believe that he was someone else.” 

“And Liz and Isobel-”

“They’re fine - it’s only me and Max who get to look like this. The girls had stayed at the hotel the night this happened - or well, the two days we were missing afterward.”

“ _Missing_?” Alex is seething now, understanding the reasoning behind the fact that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Michael or anyone else for several days. “Did you forget you have telekinetic powers?”

Michael smiles at him, making his way back into the bedroom, and leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. It doesn’t do anything to calm Alex down, but he appreciates that Michael knows he needs the physical contact of some kind in this moment.

“They had some sort of serum, something similar I’m guessing to what Helena Ortecho dosed me with when she wanted me to build the atomizer. Rendered me powerless for almost two days. Max too.” Michael slides back onto the bed, and Alex immediately leans forward, hands carefully running across the skin, careful to avoid all the places where Michael has bruises and cuts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Michael doesn’t reply, and turns away from him, running a hand through his curls, and Alex watches as they slowly fall back into place.

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You didn’t-”

Alex glares at him, and thankfully Michael doesn’t finish his sentence. 

“Because you would have stopped touching me, and I didn’t-” Michael sighs, reaching out and taking Alex’s hand. He lets him, adjusting so their fingers are intertwined, and watches as Michael presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “Because it’s been two weeks, and nothing these past two weeks has felt as good as your hands on me.”

“ _Michael_.”

Alex takes a deep breath, and barely lets the idea form in his mind, knowing that he’ll overthink it and talk himself out of it if he does. He pushes himself up, maneuvering on the bed, until he’s straddling Michael’s lap, legs wrapped around his hips. Alex digs his hands into Michael’s hair, and pulls their lips together, foreheads gently knocking against one another. The feeling of them pressing together, only the thin layer of his own boxers in the way makes Alex grind down harder, needing the touch.

Michael flips them, so Alex is underneath him, but his legs still wrapped around Michael’s hips, pulling them close together, and Alex laughs into Michael’s chest as he leans over him and retrieves the bottle of lube from earlier. Alex watches, as patiently as he can, as Michael stands up, pulling his boxers down and squirting some onto his hand, coating his fingers, before reaching down and with one finger pressing into Alex. 

It has been too long as he pushes down into the contact, hands gripping into the sheets of the bed as Michael adds another finger, using just the tiniest bit of force to open him up. And Alex can’t look away, can’t stare at anything except Michael’s face, and the focus in his eyes in how he’s touching Alex. He feels Michael press in one more finger, and while he appreciates the care Michael is putting into making sure he’s ready, Alex finds that he doesn’t care, he just needs, _needs_ -

Michael’s fingers slide out, and Alex groans at the loss, before Michael is lining himself up and pushing forward, and Alex wraps his legs around Michael’s hips again, urging him forward, filling him up. For a moment, they stay like that, Michael buried inside him, and Alex reaches up, grabbing hold of Michael’s shoulders, his neck, and finally his face, and pulling him down into a desperate crush of their lips before he feels Michael pull out, almost all the way but still inside him and holding him open, before thrusting back in. When Michael hits that spot inside him that sends him wild, Alex can’t do anything except bury his teeth into the junction where Michael’s neck meets his shoulder, the rain smell that is so very _Michael_ all he can focus on, before he reaches down and takes himself in hand, leaning into the tightness he can feel forming, his orgasm inching closer now.

Michael’s orgasm hits first as he continues to thrust forward, dropping his head to Alex’s chest with a muffled groan, as Alex continues to jerk himself off, feeling his own orgasm grow, but the friction is too much, and it’s wrong, and as he slows down his movements, he feels Michael’s hand cover his own, and Alex pulls back, watching as Michael takes over. It doesn’t take long, Alex has spent too many nights dreaming about Michael’s hands on him, and it’s as Michael thumb brushes across the tip that Alex lets go, moaning out his own climax into the curls on top of Michael’s head, fingertips pressed into the skin of Michael’s back.

He pulls Michael down into him, their bodies pressed tight, and Alex keeps his legs wrapped tight around him, one hand digging into his curls as they both breath deep and heavy, coming down from their highs. 

It takes another couple minutes before Michael is pushing himself up, and pulling Alex with him, and Alex realizes too late, Michael is _carrying him_ into the bathroom. He doesn’t protest as Michael carefully sets him down next to the shower, and Alex gracefully falls onto the bench, leaning forward and turning the water on, watching as Michael disappears back into the bedroom, returning moments later with his crutch. Alex uses this opportunity to clean himself up, removing the remaining evidence from his skin, letting his fingers dance across Michael’s skin as he watches him do the same.

They dry off, Michael double checking his crutch is within reach, before pressing their lips together one more time, and disappearing back out into the bedroom. He returns a moment later with boxers, and a t-shirt, leaving them on the sink for Alex to get to, and disappears again back into the bedroom again.

By the time Alex has put on the boxers, and pulled the t-shirt over his head, Michael is standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of black boxers, and his hair is towel dried enough that it’s wet, but not dripping onto the floor. 

“Dinner?” Michael asks, and all Alex can focus on is the cut next to Michael’s left eye. It’s already in the healing stages, clearly having been received several days earlier, but it’s entire presence makes Alex angry. “I wasn’t thinking anything too complicated, maybe fajitas? If we have the ingredients, since I’m sure you haven’t cooked anything while I’ve been gone.”

Alex scoffs at him. “I went shopping yesterday.”

He takes his time getting dressed, and fishing out one of Michael’s clean work shirts from the dresser, pushing him arms into the sleeves, pressing his nose into the fabric. He’s always amazed at how well the rain smell persists, but it’s comforting, and it makes him feel like he’s surrounded by Michael even in those moments he’s not. He stands in the middle of the bedroom, debating whether or not to put his prosthetic back on, eventually deciding against it - they’re not going anywhere else tonight, and the idea of wrangling with it when they’re just going to end up going back to bed in a few hours isn’t appealing to him at all.

By the time he makes it out into the main room, standing at the foot of the dining room table, Michael, who has slipped into Alex’s Air Force hoodie so he’s not walking around shirtless, has already spread out the necessary ingredients on the counter in the kitchen. There’s a pan on the stove, and Michael is concentrating on slicing the steak into strips, the vegetables from the crisper waiting to be cut up next. Alex doesn’t pay too much attention to the specifics of the cooking, and glances down at the table, only to notice Michael’s regular notebooks are missing, though the laptop that is his gift is exactly where he left it.

Alex watches, transfixed, as Michael scribbles something into one of those notebooks, and then retrieves his cooking notebook from it’s spot against the wall, writing something down in that as well. The way Michael moves, Alex can’t even begin to imagine what his thought process is like to be able to shift around constantly like he does, one idea after another flowing through his mind, needing to be captured and saved. 

As far as he can tell, Michael hasn’t seen him yet. Which is fine, because Alex is more than happy in this moment to enjoy watching him, reveling in how comfortable Michael looks. He thinks of the drafting table in the study, and two vehicles parked in the garage, and Michael’s clothes with their own space in the dressers, and in the closet, and can’t look away from Michael in the kitchen, cooking and looking very much like this is his _home_. And Alex thinks of every time Michael has told him about not belonging, about not feeling wanted, and about how often he’d been shuffled around the system, and something tightens in Alex’s chest.

Years ago, he’d seen this beautiful, handsome boy who made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and offered him a warm place to sleep at night. A boy who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had without hesitation put himself between Alex and danger time and time again. Who looked at Alex like he was the only person in the world that mattered, and Alex has always wondered if he’s worthy of that love, of that devotion. But Michael has never looked at him any other way, even in their worst moments, during the arguments and the fighting - Alex has never doubted that Michael loved him. Because while Alex knows he’s always had trouble verbalizing his feelings, Michael has always been one to stand tall and declare them in the most beautiful ways.

And Alex knows that, without a doubt, there is nowhere else he would rather be in this moment. 

“Michael,” he chokes out, because the words are clawing up his throat, and usually Alex is careful about what he says, and how he says it, and he’s never - at least he doesn’t think he has - truly told Michael how he feels. And standing here now, after being apart for two weeks, and the issues with keeping in touch during that time, and the fucking _bruises_ , and it’s all too much for him to keep in now.

“I was thinking about my workshop, and how we can modify some space in the basement here if that’s-”

Alex doesn’t let him finish, can’t even process what Michael is talking about past agreeing with it because he's talking like he knows this is his space, and Alex can't help but feel happy and so fucking proud to see that Michael knows this is his home too.

“Michael,” he starts again, waiting until Michael is looking back at him. “I am _so fucking in love with you_.”

He was expecting a reaction of some kind, probably something akin to Michael just crossing the room and kissing him. What he certainly _doesn’t_ expect is to hear the knife clatter to the floor, and Michael swear under his breath, and for him to turn the water in the sink on, shoving his hand underneath it.

It takes Alex’s brain a moment to come back online, wondering what just happened, before he realizes that Michael has sliced his hand open. But before he can move, Michael has grabbed a dishtowel, and wrapped it around his hand, as he rushes toward Alex, good hand reaching out and pulling their bodies together, kissing Alex. And Alex is helpless, he melts into Michael’s touch, his arms wrapping around Michael’s waist and pulling himself closer, and Alex faintly realizes his crutch has fallen to the floor.

“You’re such an idiot,” Alex says against Michael’s lips, but Michael just shakes his head, diving back in and kissing him again.

“I don’t care,” Michael replies against his lips, and Alex feels helpless to stop him. "I'm happy to be your idiot."

“We’re going to have to call _Kyle_ now, and have him look at your hand-”

“It’s really not that bad-”

Alex grabs Michael’s wrist, pulling back far enough to get a better look at it, the towel wrapped tightly enough for now, and Alex knows the only reason he hasn’t immediately settled into worrying about an infection is because of Michael’s alien DNA and it’s resistance to human diseases and ailments.

“What if you need stitches?”

Michael smiles, leaning in again, and Alex doesn’t stop him.

"I'm gonna go put my prosthetic on, and then call Kyle, so please, no more accidents." Alex tugs at the dish towel, and Michael yanks his hand back.

In the bathroom, Alex collapses back on the window seat, and takes a deep breath, cursing the events of tonight. Well, not all of them because he'd never regret Michael - even through the good and bad between them, Alex has learned to take it all in stride. He just can't believe Michael's reaction to what he'd said had been to _slice his hand open_.

He calls Kyle first, leaning against the wall, and wondering if he should never had said anything at all. They're lucky - Kyle isn't working, and agrees to come over, but Alex can hear the apprehension in his voice and knows he's going to have to figure out a way to repay the favor.

By the time Alex has put his prosthetic back on, Kyle is letting himself in through the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but here - and Alex can't blame him for that. His status as Alien Doctor means he's the only one who can treat the aliens without fear of discovery.

“Do I even want to know?” Kyle asks, carefully pulling back the dishtowel, and inspecting the wound. Alex watches as Michael ignores the question, his good hand reaching toward the new laptop that's still sitting on the table.

“Guerin’s an idiot,” Alex supplies from where he’s standing in the kitchen heating up leftover pizza, since dinner was ruined, and Alex was done letting Michael near sharp objects for the evening. As Kyle sets about cleaning and bandaging Michael’s cut, including dropping a full bottle of nail polish remover on the table for Michael to drink, Alex moves around the kitchen, cleaning up the ruined dinner that Michael had planned for them, shaking his head at the half cut up meat and vegetables, and putting anything that can be saved back in the fridge. 

“Yeah,” Michael adds, not paying attention to Kyle, his gaze firmly settled on watching Alex in between sips of acetone. “But you love me.”

Alex watches Kyle stop what he’s doing, eyes moving up first to Michael’s, and then over to his own, as if asking if he needs to tell Michael to shut up before he starts telling Kyle things he definitely doesn’t need to, or want to, know.

“Did you just figure that out, Guerin?” Kyle replies instead, and Alex wonders if he thought that the safest option. “Cuz the rest of us had bets on how long it would take you two to figure your shit out.”

Alex glares at Kyle, remembering several conversations years ago, where Kyle had tried to nudge him into talking to Michael, insisting that it was the key to everything between them. It hadn’t been bad advice, it had been exactly what Alex had needed to hear. The problem was, like it had always been with them, timing. 

Timing had always been their enemy, even from the very beginning. Alex had thought they’d beaten it, after everything they’d been through where they’d all but given up on ever being together. He doesn’t like to dwell on it too much, on their crashing back together in the weeks following the reunion, or how fast he’d pulled away due to the threat of his father still lingering over them, choosing to protect Michael over being with him.

“Who won?” Michael asks, and Alex glances over to see Kyle bent over Michael’s hand, gauze pressed against the wound. He doesn’t want to know how far off their friends were, if he and Michael had spent too much time letting everything else get in the way instead of trying to work things out between them. But he’s already cleaned up the kitchen, and after all of this, Alex really just wants to eat dinner and take Michael to bed, and not wake up until the morning.

“Max.” That’s a surprising answer, Alex thinks. He’d expected it to be Maria or Isobel. Or even Kyle himself, who seemed to have picked up on what Guerin meant to him long before Alex was even willing to admit to himself that it could be obvious to anyone. “And even he was off by about four months. You two really did take forever.”

“I’m surprised Maria didn’t win.”

“She took herself out of the running, said it’d be cheating.”

Alex is thankful when the oven beeps, indicating the pizza is ready, and ignores the remaining conversation between Kyle and Michael. He removes the tray from the oven, and plates two slices each on plates for him and Michael, before wondering if Kyle is hungry. But as he turns around with the intention of asking, Kyle is standing up, backpack in hand, looking ready to leave.

“I don’t want to know what caused that cut, but for my sanity, please don’t do it again.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving the two of them alone again.

“Alex, what is this?” Michael asks, fingers running across the smooth top of the laptop.

“It’s yours,” he replies, matter of factly. He knows Michael is going to resist, going to insist he doesn’t need or want it.

“I didn’t ask-”

Alex takes a deep breath, because he knew the fight was coming. He knew that Michael would resist it, because that’s how Michael is. He gives and gives and gives, and Alex has watched him reject things people have done for him over and over again, thinking they were debts that needed to be repaid. 

“I know you didn’t, but with all your research and your designs - I thought this would make it easier.”

Michael doesn’t say anything to that, and Alex wonders if he’s not going to actually argue against it.Maybe it’s just the events of tonight, maybe Michael is going to save the bickering for another day, another evening. 

Instead, Michael shakes his head, eyeing the computer one more time, and pushing up off the chair, and walking into the kitchen. Alex tries to not focus on his injured hand, on the stark white bandage wrapped around reminding him of a different time in their lives, causing him to flinch away, picking up a plate and taking a bite of pizza.

He watches Michael lean against the counter across from him, picking up a slice of pizza and testing if it’s cool enough to eat. It’s shit timing, but Alex needs to know something, needs to ask Michael about tonight.

“Did you not know?”

Michael pauses, pizza poised in front of his mouth, and frowns at him, before dropping the slice back onto the plate, and sliding it back onto the counter.

“Of course I knew.”

“Because I know I’m not good with words, I know that I don’t make those big grand declarations like you do that take my breath away and render me speechless.”

“Alex-”

“I just,” he pauses, leveraging himself across the linoleum until he’s standing in Michael’s space, fingers itching to reach out and make contact. “It felt important to tell you.”

He lets Michael crowd him against the cabinetry, pizza temporarily forgotten. Wraps his arms around Michael's neck, as Michael pulls him on with his hands settled on his hips, and Alex just loves this man. He's infuriating and he's beautiful, and more than anything else, Alex wouldn't trade anything in their past if it meant changing getting here.

"I told you a long time ago, I don't look away from you. I never could." Alex lets Michael lean in, foreheads pressed together, noses bumping, lips pressed together in smiles. "You're my home, Alex. You made me believe, when no one else did, that I didn't have to build a ship and leave. That I could have a family here too."

Alex thinks about home and Michael's plans for moving his workshop into the basement and kisses him again and again and again, feeling like he's that seventeen year old boy again who got nervous around the boy he liked. Except now they're grown up, they're men who have seen more and done more, and changed them. But one thing through it all has remained the same.

"You really want to move your workshop here?" Alex asks, knowing the answer, but needing Michael to understand that he's asking to make sure. He needs to hear it from Michael.

"Do you not-"

"No!" Alex immediately replies, and then catches himself, knowing how this has to sound. "Fuck. No, I want you to. I'm just - I'm making sure it's what you want."

Michael reaches behind him, and Alex twists his head to see it's one of his notebooks, and they pull away from each other just enough so Michael can flip through the pages to find something specific. He holds it up so Alex can see and-

It's a design for a prosthetic for him.

Alex takes the notebook, staring at the pages, not understanding half the calculations and formulas scribbled in the margins, but not caring because he understands the design schematic.

"I just thought I could try and make you something that was lighter and easier to get on and off-"

Alex lunges forward, cutting Michael off, and wrapping his arms back around him, using Michael and the countertop for balance and leverage to stay upright. He kisses Michael over and over again, and thinks about everything Michael does for him.

"Say it again," Michael says, pulling back so they can look each other in the eye.

Alex buries his face in Michael's shoulder, pressing his lips against the skin of his neck, but he's smiling. He hasn't felt this happy, this excited, this _in love_ since he was seventeen. He knows Michael is waiting for him, the ever patient partner that as a teenager he never dreamed of deserving, much less finding.

"I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
